


A Shot in the Dark

by sexyscientistbabe



Category: John Wick (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Grieving, Lots of Sex, Mutual Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sex Work, Sex Worker Character, Unrequited Love, escort/client relationship, non-canon, non-canon drama, sex (obvs), therapy lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-05-01 19:19:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19184038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sexyscientistbabe/pseuds/sexyscientistbabe
Summary: Sasha is an escort who frequents the Continental, her main client base comprised of hitmen. One night, she runs into the only client she ever fell for-- John Wick. Not having seen him in years, they have a lot of catching up to do.





	1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

 

      The sound of a glass being set carefully on the bar before her shook Sasha out of her reverie. Glancing up from the blood red color of the wine, she gave the bartender a cordial smile. “Thank you Addy.” Sasha said as she lifted the delicate wine glass to her full, glossy lips. She reached into her clutch for a coin. The bartender gave a curt nod accompanied with a wink. “It’s already been paid for, _madame_.” she said the last word with a hint of a sneer on her pretty elfish face. Sasha restrained herself from rolling her eyes. You’d think the staff at the Continental would be a bit more accommodating, considering how much money they made indirectly by her conducting business there. She knew she was lucky just to have their regular tolerance, but she couldn’t fathom how assassins were considered more respectable than sex workers. It was infuriating.  
Nonetheless, assassins were her main client base; hence, her regular prowls at the Continental. Giving Addy a sidestare, she asked softly, “Who bought it?”  


      Addy was bent over, grabbing a tray of glasses to wipe down. Raising her eyebrows, she nodded in the direction of a man seated in a shadowy booth adjacent to the bar. “Apparently John Wick is back.”   


      The mention of his name sent prickles down Sasha’s spine, pooling into her belly and filling it with ice. Her back went rigid, her eyes wide, and she tried to conceal her shock from Addy. “For how long?” she asked, fighting to keep her voice controlled.    


      Addy shrugged. “This is the first I’ve seen of him in years.” Sasha nodded slowly, taking a full drink from her glass. With a deep breath, she rose from the barstool. Her grey satin dress shifted along her curves as she stood, the fabric sliding to the floor. She deftly felt along her leg to check her garter, ensuring that her small revolver was still strapped securely to her thigh.    


      She strode across the red carpeted floor to the booth Addy had pointed out. It would be just like John to hide in the shadows at a time when he was actually protected, unlike how brazen and out in the open he was when he was working. She felt his eyes on her before she could see his face. Smoothly, Sasha slid into the seat across from John. With one final deep breath, she looked up, and saw his face. Her breath caught in her throat as his familiar dark eyes captured hers.    


      There was a yawning moment of anticipation between them, like a bubble waiting to be popped. His intent black eyes seemed to be studying her face, drinking in her features. Finally, he spoke.    


      “Sasha,” he murmured, his voice gravelly. She waited for him to say something, anything else, but he didn’t.   
He always was a man of few words.   
  
      With a languid sigh, Sasha swirled her wine glass in her hand, tipping it to him with a dramatic air. “Mister Wick.” her salutation was punctuated with a sensuous smirk. He shifted in his seat, seeming awkward for a moment, like he didn’t know what to say or do next. “How have you been?” he inquired.  


      “I’ve been well. It’s been a long time, John.” she held his gaze, but his eyes dropped to the table. He looked tired. Weary. He was dressed impeccably as ever, but his hair was in need of a wash, and the circles under his eyes betrayed his exhaustion. She sensed that something momentus had happened in his life. Her heart panged. John Wick was the only client that Sasha had fallen for. Of course, she never confessed her adoration of him. Yet, all these years since he’d been out of the business, she’d thought of him, wondered about him, pined for him. It was embarassing, honestly. Falling in love with a john. She shook her head, shaking off her reminiscings.    


      “Rumor has it you settled down. Got married.” her smile was tight. She finished her wine in a single gulp. John looked up at her. He looked like a broken man. Again, her heart twisted with a tempest of emotion.    


      With a shuddering inhale, he admitted, “The rumors were true. I did get married.”    


      Sasha felt her chest constrict and her throat get thick. “That’s wonderful.” she said softly.   


      John’s eyes fell again, his shoulders slumped. “Sasha... “ he started, struggling to say the words. He collected himself and sat up straight, his broad shoulders rolling back. He looked her in the eye. “Her name was Helen. I buried her three days ago.” There was a long moment of silence as Sasha felt the impact of his words. “Cancer.” he tacked on the explanation.    


      Sasha looked at him, taking in his emotion and his strength. “Oh, John…” she said, at a loss for words. She reached for the white-knuckled hand that was wrapped around his whiskey tumbler, gently brushing her fingers against his. Looking deep into his eyes, she said, “I’m so sorry John. I can’t imagine what you’re feeling right now.”  
He huffed, his eyes surveying the lounge. He tentatively moved his hand closer to hers, and she began stroking the back of his hand with long, slender fingers. His hands were square, thick, and she knew all too well of the callouses on his palms from his countless hours of handling weapons. She traced the lines of faint scars on his wrist. His eyes closed at her tender touch. Suddenly, he gripped her hand in his intensely, his eyes flashing open. “Yesterday, this little _punk bitch_ came to my house. He and his posse stole my car… and killed my dog.” the tone of his voice was low and deadly. Sasha felt fear in her gut, knowing that she needn’t fear for herself, but she was seeing a seething vengeance and madness in John that she had never seen before. He loosened his grip on her hand, reaching for his drink. After a swig, he finished the story. “The dog was the last gift from Helen. It was all I had left of her.” His lips pressed together and his jaw clenched. Sasha could feel that this man, this legendary, greatly feared man, the _Baba Yaga,_ was on the verge of tears. “John…” Sasha spoke, her heart wracked with sadness for his plight.   


      He downed the last of his drink. “I’m sure I don’t need to tell you the rest.” he said, raising his eyebrows slightly. She could imagine how bloody his floors must have gotten. She measured her words. “So… you’re back?”   


      He grimaced, looking around again. “I don’t know. I’m gonna kill Viggo’s son… And anyone who gets in my way.”   


      Sasha paradoxically felt afraid-- and aroused. John had always been sexy, powerful, yet stoic and unassuming. Something about his reputation and his capabilities was so alluring; yet, he was probably the most dangerous man in at least the Continental, which was really saying something. The sheer rage that she felt coming from him was electrifying. She gulped. “As you should.” she agreed. John nodded toward the bar, a few strands of his silky black hair falling in his face. “Let’s get more alcohol.” he grunted.    


      Sasha rose from the booth, and John watched as her graceful form sashayed to the bar. He followed closely behind, keeping his peripheral vision alert as always. He felt tremendous guilt at his powerful attraction to Sasha, but he couldn’t forget all of the tempestuous, glorious nights they’d spent together. She was the only escort he’d seen more than once, and once he found her, he never saw another. It was hard to give her up when he met Helen, but undeniably worth it. After all, a real, lasting relationship couldn’t come from a transactional one, he thought. And he loved Helen more than anything, or anyone, in the world. But seeing Sasha’s expressive face again, hearing her smooth voice, watching her eyes fill with tears as he relayed his troubles to her, it all came rushing back to him. When he’d seen her sitting at the bar, in that fucking gorgeous gown, her thick, curled black hair cascading down her back, he’d had the sudden urge to walk up to her and proposition her on the spot. But the shame cut him down quickly. What kind of man would run to a call girl just days after his wife’s funeral? Why did he even  _ want  _ to? His love for Helen was deeper than anything he’d ever felt in his life; yet, he craved closeness, and tenderness, desperately right now. He needed someone. And there Sasha was, like magic.    


      He joined her at the bar, his mind tumbling with thoughts, his brow drawn. Sasha tried to steady herself yet again with a deep breath. It was too easy to get lost in the tsunami of John’s life, turbulent as it was now. He ordered another round of drinks for them, and Addy gave him a lingering look before serving them. Sasha chortled into her wine glass when Addy was out of hearing range. “What?” John asked. “Addy clearly has eyes for you. I can’t blame her.” Sasha said sensuously. John merely gave a  _ hmm  _ before taking a drink, his eyes trained on Sasha’s the whole time. The air was thick between them. “So, you’ve heard about the shitstorm that is my life. Tell me what you’ve been up to these last… what has it been, 7 years?” he said

      Sasha smiled up at him. “You kept track.” she said coyly. John shifted uncomfortably. “Well, lucky guess.”   


      She tried not to roll her eyes as she shrugged nonchalantly. “Well, you know, I’m still in the business. Obviously.” she gestured to their environment. “I’ve made a few friends in high places, which helps. I’ve traveled quite a bit.” John bit. “Where to?” he asked eagerly, desperate for a change of subject.    


      “All over Europe, Russia, Brazil, Morocco…” she trailed off. “I got into a bit of trouble there, actually.” John’s brow furrowed questioningly. Sasha explained, “I was a companion for a high profile arms dealer. There was a deal gone bad, and, well,” she gulped down some wine. “You know how these things go.” John nodded curtly. “Were you hurt?” he asked. Sasha shrugged one shoulder. “I was shot once. It was awful. Thankfully I pulled through, and the scar isn’t too noticeable.” His eyes darkened, his face growing steely. “Who did it?” he growled.    


      Sasha laughed. “Jesus, John, hell if I know.” He grunted, taking another drink. He didn’t need to say that he’d kill anyone who tried to hurt her-- she already knew that. He leaned in closely to her, his eyes growing hazy with the alcohol and his own confused thoughts. She felt the fabric of his sleeve against her bare arm, smelled his cologne and the scent of whiskey on his breath. Her heartbeat picked up, and she restrained herself from pressing into him. She had given up on the idea of propositioning him tonight, considering he had just become a widower.    


      John looked into Sasha’s eyes with a strange, vulnerable, pleading look. “Sasha,” he said in that growl that ignited her core. “Yes, John?” she breathed. “Sasha would you…” he huffed, looking down, struggling with what he wanted to say. Gripping her wrist, he looked back up at her. “Would you think I was a terrible man if I asked to hire you for the night?”    


Her heart nearly stopped. She certainly hadn’t expected that. 


	2. Recovering Lust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is hesitant, as a fresh widower. But Sasha knows what he needs.

     Sasha chuckled darkly.  “John, darling, you kill people for money, and I still adore you. I don’t think there’s anything you could do that would make me judge you.” she sighed, leaning into him, looking up at him with big, dark eyes. John huffed the beginning of a laugh, and wrapped his hand around her waist. “Addy?” he called. She popped up out of nowhere, seemingly. “Yes John?” she asked, batting her eyelashes. “A bottle of the sangiovese, please. Send it to my room.” Sasha smiled in surprise, that he remembered her preferred wine.  “And a bottle of whiskey.” he added. Addy nodded, glancing briefly at Sasha. Sasha couldn’t help but shoot Addy a narrow eyed, snakey look.   


      The pair made their way across the expansive lobby to the elevators. More than one head turned to be sure they were actually seeing John Wick, the legendary **_Baba Yaga_** who’d disappeared for several years. Sasha usually drew many looks herself, simply for her beauty and elegance. The two of them together were practically celebrity.   
When the elevator doors closed on them, Sasha exhaled a breath she hadn’t noticed she’d been holding. Anticipation was beginning to uncoil in her veins. She hadn’t felt this measure of that _addictive_ mixture of anxiety and excitement for a client in years. Of course, this was John. And he was more than just a client.

     They glided in silence up to the tenth floor. John followed Sasha into the hall, eyes scanning the periphery. His eyes were also drawn, again, to the curve of her hips as she strolled before him. He gestured toward his room, and she stepped aside. His hands were trembling as he fitted the key and pushed the door open. She slid past him to enter, and for a brief moment, their bodies were pressed close, and his hand came to rest lightly on her waist. The fine silk material of her dress, warm with the heat of her skin, felt heavenly to him. His fingers traced small circles as he looked intently at her. She looked down coquettishly, her curled raven tresses falling to conceal half of her face. Stepping away, she moved to the window at the far end of the room, past the bed. Her blood was pounding, now. God, how she’d missed John. She blushed to recall how many nights she’d struggled to remember the feeling of his hands on her, of his lips on hers, of the way he felt moving inside of her. More embarassing still, how many calls with detestable clients where she’d closed her eyes, laid passively and did her best to pretend that it was John she was with. She’d resolved long ago that he could never know the truth, never know how deeply she cared for him and yearned for him. She could hardly admit, even to herself, that she loved him.    


      A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts, and she saw John allowing in the server, carrying the bottles he’d requested. Steeling herself with a deep breath, Sasha looked out into the rainy New York night, placed her hands on the heavy gold fabrics of the curtains, and let them fall to conceal their room from the storm and the buildings beyond. She heard John’s murmured thanks and the jangle of metal as he tipped the server with a coin.    


      John opened the wine first, his jaw clenched as he fought the nerves that had overtaken him. The action of driving the sharp corkscrew into the soft, pliant cork, pushing and turning harshly, gave him a small sense of relief. This was the only way he knew to cope with his feelings- direct action and kinetic release. The sensation of the cork popping easily out was satisfying, the glass bottle heavy in his hand. He was mesmerized by the sight of the maroon liquid streaming into a glass, like blood pouring from an artery. John couldn’t place what he was feeling. His entire existence recently had been flooded with grief and rage. Just those two powerful emotions, fighting like bulls in his mind. But when he saw Sasha, he’d been reminded of an earlier time, an earlier  _ self,  _ and the affection for her that had never left his heart. Then there was the time, five years ago, where he’d risked everything, his life, his retirement, his  _ marriage,  _ to protect her, and she never even knew about it. 

      And he would be remiss to deny that he was overcome, also, with the memories of the immense pleasure he’d experienced with her, dozens of times. Just seeing her body again, her lips, her hair, the way she walked… It all came rushing back to him, the images in his mind pouring downward through his body, warming him, arousing him. To admit that fact ushered in the profound guilt of betraying Helen. Even though she was gone now. He pondered the shame that was blooming in his chest as he stared aimlessly through the glass before him.    


      The sound of Sasha’s shoes dropping to the floor broke his reverie. She glided toward him, the hem of her dress dragging on the floor, the look on her face almost predatory, but with the smile of an angel. She took the wine glass from his hand and took a deep draught. “You look like you need a drink, too.” She opened the whiskey quickly and passed him a tumbler of the amber liquid. “Nostrovia.” she said softly as they clinked their glasses together. “Nostrovia,” he echoed.   
John downed his whiskey swiftly, and reached to pour another glass. Sasha enjoyed the sight of his concealed arm brushing her shoulder. There was something undeniably sexy about a well-tailored suit. And knowing exactly what was underneath, made her mouth water.   


     “Can we just… sit,” John asked, in his husky voice, “and have another drink?” Sasha’s eyes softened. She could sense the turmoil in him. “Of course,” she assented.   
He moved to the edge of the bed, sitting down slowly, his full glass cupped in his large hand. Sasha joined him, though she reclined onto her elbows, looking up at John. He took a drink. His silence was deafening.   


     “John,” Sasha murmured. “What is going on in that mind of yours?” she said, shaking her head slightly to insinuate her interest.  
His brow furrowed, his eyes narrowing. After a beat, he turned to look at her, swinging one of his legs onto the bed. “I’m feeling so many things at once. And yet…” he took another sip. “There’s this… numbness. That’s... familiar. But I’ve never had it be so… thin.” Sasha sat up, and she began unlacing his shoe. He watched her nimble fingers move. “I can’t talk about Helen yet. I don’t want to talk about any of it. I already told you… What I’m going to do.” his jaw clenched again, his grip on his drink tightening dangerously. She slid the shoe off his heel, and it dropped to the floor with a loud _clunk._ She gestured for him to bring his other leg up, and he did. She repeated the action. “All I know, right now, tonight, is that I want you.” She paused, looking into his eyes. 

      “But I feel so ashamed.” It was so quiet, it was almost a whisper. He was hunched over, his legs straight in front of him, his feet now bare. He was staring into his whiskey, his dark hair concealing his face. She sat up on her knees, moving to his level. Her cool, delicate hand cradled his cheek. His eyes flashed to hers, his brow betraying his uncertainty. This was what had made her fall in love with him. As compelling, mysterious, sexy and  _ virile _ as he was, it was these rare moments of vulnerability that he showed only to her, and presumably a handful of others throughout his life, that had sunk his claws deep into her heart and claimed it. She pressed his chin up and stared into his eyes. “Why?” her query was gentle.    


      “I feel like I’m betraying her.” he responded.   


      Sasha took in the impact of her words. She wasn’t surprised that he felt that way. She was, however, surprised that he was talking it through with her, and that it was an impediment to his desire. As a sex worker, she’d seen the ugliness and sheer entitlement that was rampant in the vast majority of men-- particularly powerful men. She couldn’t imagine most of her clients expressing moral distate for their desire to fuck a woman a week after their wife’s funeral. Most of them had never been faithful anway.   
She took in a breath. “I never knew Helen, John.” She watched his face tighten at the mere mention of her name. Her heart ached in empathy. “But I doubt she would want you to suffer, and be alone, when you’re in so much pain already. If she loved you, and she knew this was coming… I’m sure she would still love you if she could see you now.”   


      His dark eyes captured hers again. There was a long, yawning moment between them before he looked away. He stood up, pacing, and she was shocked to hear a slow, low chuckle come from him. As he pawed through a small bag of his, he said “It’s funny you should say that.” The hairs on the back of Sasha’s neck prickled. Though she loved and  _ mostly  _ trusted John, she hadn’t seen him in years. She could never trust anyone fully. As she watched his hands carefully, she felt through her dress to pat her gun again. Not that she would stand a chance against John  _ fucking _ Wick.    


      “Because,” he growled, and his hands finally came forth, revealing a thick band of cash, and a pouch. Sasha exhaled, moving her hand from her thigh to her chest, smiling to conceal her momentary mistrust. “The dog that Iosef killed, was a gift from Helen. She arranged to have it sent to me when she died.” He huffed again, that broken half-laugh that he usually gave. “So you’re right. She didn’t want me to be alone.”  
Sasha smiled, but she took in what he meant. The fact that the dog that had been killed was a parting gift from Helen was purely heartbreaking. Sadly, she was accustomed to the horrors that humans would put one another through. It was a hazard of the trade, being an escort to assassins. 

     John stepped to her, looking into her eyes. “So, do you still want it half and half?” He meant half civilian money, and half Continental money. She’d always done it that way.    


     “Yessir.” she said with a jaunty grin. He moved to the table where her clutch sat, and he set down the stack of bills, and dumped the contents of the pouch on the table. Sasha’s eyes grew wide as she took it in. “John,” she breathed, “I can tell just by looking that that’s much more than I charge.”   
He stepped back to the edge of the bed, his frame positioned directly in front of her. Instinctively, she spread her legs slightly, pulling the silky fabric of her dress taught.   


      “I don’t care.” John said, undoing the knot of his tie. She felt a sharp pulse in her core. “It’s worth it.” His silky black hair was falling in his eyes, which were blazing now. He stood over her, as he pulled his tie from the collar of his shirt. Sasha got up on her knees, leaning close to him. She placed her hands on his chest, slowly moving them to push his blazer off his shoulders. The feel of the rich fabrics made her even more wet. She loved a man who knew how to dress. His blazer fell to the floor, and his face was inches from hers. Her eyes flickered up to his. “Accept my penance,” he murmured. Her hands moved to his shirt, undoing his buttons. “Let me pay for my sins.” He growled. His voice, his words, were setting the lust in her veins ablaze. She ached for him. Her mouth was hungry for him, hungry to kiss him, everywhere, hungry to feel his bites, his pinches. On the last button, his shirt hung open, exposing his chest to her. She gazed longingly at the trail of hair that led into his pants. He grasped her jaw in his hand, and leaned to her.    


      The first kiss was a revelation. Their lips molded together, tender and burning with longing. It was his lust that took over first, his tongue slipping through her plush lips, pressing against her tongue, his grip on her jaw growing stronger. Her cunt pulsed with desire. He pulled her hips to the very edge of bed abruptly, making her gasp, as he pressed his hips into hers. She could feel that he was growing hard, and it made her head roll back, her eyes slipping closed for a moment, as she drank in the reality of the night. She really got to have him again. 


End file.
